A Forest Hidden
by Namikaze Okami
Summary: In the Warring States Era, Hashirama of the Senju sets out to unite the feuding shinobi clans to create an era of peace. Together with his brother Tobirama and a powerful Uzumaki heiress, he begins his journey to achieve his lifelong dream of unity. Gaining the trust of the Uchiha clan would prove challenging - especially since another major war was waiting beyond the horizon.
1. Senju of the Forest

_**Author's Note (2020/01/30): **_At long last, I've finally brought myself to continue with this fanfic (sort of). Chapters will most likely be posted once a month at minimum, but this work will not surpass 20 chapters as I'm roughly aiming for ~100,000 words, so you can expect roughly 4,000-5,000 words a chapter. This fic is mostly a genfic as I wanted to write a story of the journey of Hashirama and how he ruled as the First Hokage (since there is not much clear canon to go from aside from the battles against Madara). I hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave a review, favorite, or follow (or kudos, bookmark, comment if you're viewing on AO3).

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**A Forest Hidden**

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**Chapter 1  
****Senju of the Forest**

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Long ago, before the existence of the Five Shinobi Countries, the lands were locked into a state of bloodshed and ceaseless conflict. Daimyō enlisted their strongest clans to do battle on their behalf, claiming and reclaiming the borders from their bitter adversaries in a cycle of never-ending hatred. North and south, east and west, land and sea - clans all over the known continent used chakra as their weapons, with some possessing great power deep within their waning bloodlines. This era in history later became known as the Warring States Period - each of the proud shinobi clans flying their family crests upon their sigils, their armor, their mouths, and upon their blood that marked each battlefield.

Generations before the existence of Konohagakure no Sato, there were two powerful clans that dominated the lands to the far east, the rich forested region that sang the winds of spring - the Senju and the Uchiha. Bitter rivals and adversaries since the existence of shinobi, their blood ran cold with the memories of past conflict etched into their blades. Foils to their own prowess, it seemed as if dictated by fate that they threatened the existence and peace of the other. The breaths upon the common-folk who lived along the fields and markets spoke of figures mired in legends - the Sage of Six Paths, his disciples, his children, Senju, Uchiha. Without fail, the two rival clans were always connected by the tales of gods.

For hundreds of years, the two clans fought upon the lands of their predecessors, wreaking havoc on the lands which they lived, stirring warfare and terror against each other in an endless cycle. Over time, the bloodshed amounted during each great conflict, with clans being hired by the numerous daimyō and lesser lords to conquer lands on their behalf. One by one, the clans that marked their territories across the war-torn continent vanished with each generation, forgotten within the ceaseless bloodshed. Men, women, children, and all in-between fell victim to the scourge of the crossfires. Villages burned to the ground, farms were sacked, and some were sold to slavers across the silver water.

In this age, monsters walked among the earth. The feared tailed-beasts of legend occupied the far reaches of the land. Living in the great deserts of the west, the plateaus to the east, the waters of the south - the volcanoes, the mountains, the forests. Striking fear into the hearts of men, their shadows towered over all who attempted to seek them out. As men tried to claim their powers for their own, the beasts ran amok, destroying mountains and causing tsunamis in their wake. Not even the bravest of warriors have dared to quell the rage from the demons who strode before them.

Where this tale begins, after many centuries the great clans of old finally grew fatigued and stripped of their wills, forced to do battle on behalf of the lords who commanded them. To disobey was to accept death - and so many succumbed to the judgement of the sword. Out of the rising conflicts, an individual arose to quell the fighting and unite the clans of the east into a village of peace and prosperity…

Where it all began was deep in the hidden forest, within the land where shinobi used the flames of fires to quell their foes…

* * *

On that fateful night, the clan of the forest lay awake with grief. Within the confines of the Senju clan's head-household, the air fell silent in bitter mourning. Deep within the encompassing forest, their ancient settlement lay untouched, unmarked by those who sought to destroy their legacy. As guards lined the outer gates to the home, the faint orange dimming of the candle emanated an aura of unfulfilled existence. His life passed him by, predeceased by his sons, his wife, his parents, and his pride. On his deathbed beside a lit lantern and burning incense, the elder chieftain Butsuma lay injured as his eldest son sat at his side.

Long dark hair as black as brittle chestnut, onyx eyes, strong jawline, copper skin - his son was the purest of Senju blood in ages. Given the name Hashirama, the young man possessed his father's defined facial features, but lacked his stern and bitter approach to living. For the first time in what seemed centuries, a Senju awakened Wood Release, a long-forgotten kekkei genkai that was said to be the marking of a god - and Hashirama was called no such thing. In his father's eyes, only his great prowess and chakra made up for what he lacked in brute leadership. His expression of deep concern and sadness encapsulated that fact.

Bowing before his dying father, Hashirama closed his darkened eyes, shamefully holding back his oncoming tears. Thoughts of regret and despair entered his mind as he felt guilt swell into his throat. His father, his only parent and clan's only elder of the head-household was about to leave the world forever.

"Father," He spoke, his quivering voice low. "I'm sorry…! I should've been there in time…!"

"No…" Butsuma sighed, weakly.

As he breathed through his strained lungs, his bandages wrapped around his chest became painted with blood, its crimson seeping from each heave of his breath. Each gasp for air pulsated through his deep wound with a burning tinge of ache, the memory of the katana and its puncture still fresh in his mind. He knew it was the end - and he accepted it.

"My time has come, regardless of the Uchiha bastards who've done this. I've become old… I can battle no longer… Today, I welcome an honourable death… as a shinobi of the Senju…"

Footsteps suddenly came rushing down the wooden hallway, echoing the corridor beyond the sliding paper doors of the chieftain's resting chambers. Quickly, an attendant rushed in from the doorway with an anger-stricken white-haired man at his side, the pale red markings on his fair-skinned face appearing vibrant from the candlelit glow that enveloped the room. Known as Tobirama, he was feared by all as the fastest warrior in the land - his father's pride and his favorite child. As his elder brother, he inherited the strong chakra of the Senju, but lacked his kind heart and compassion for others. He was the perfect shinobi, built on strength and tactic - and there was none who despised the Uchiha for what they did to his family more than he did.

"Butsuma-sama!" The attendant panted. "Tobirama-sama has arrived!"

Appearing at his father's bedside, his dark eyes widened upon the glimpse of his fatal wound. Narrowing his glance bitterly, he bit his tongue, distraught from the sight of the once great and powerful leader defeated by their enemies under their noses. "Father!"

"Ah," Butsuma glanced towards them. "My sons… you are both now before me. Now I can tell you… what you must know… before I-,"

Suddenly, he began coughing, his chest heaving violently while he crumbled under the sheets of his deathbed. Regaining his breath, his body writhed under the blankets, his bandages' crimson shade becoming brighter. Blood dripping from the corner of his dry mouth, his breathing turned shallow.

"Father, you're wounded!" Tobirama shouted, leaning towards him. "You shouldn't be pushing yourself to talk! You're in no condition to-!"

"Tobirama!" Butsuma barked, weakly. "Bite your tongue...! You of all people must listen to my dying words… as your… father…"

Taken aback, Tobirama swallowed his pride, leaning away from him in a gesture of respect for his last rites. Regret painted his thoughts, wishing he were there to fight alongside him. Insisting to embark alone with the other shinobi clansmen towards the river basin, the Uchiha swarmed them in numbers inconceivable, the gleams of their blood-red eyes shining through the forest canopy above. If he were there, his father did not have to die. If he were there, he could have saved him. That was an impossible dream, as the god of death had other plans.

Accepting what was to come, Hashirama nodded once. "Father," He spoke, his voice calm and quiet. "You may speak. Let us hear what you have to say, as your honorable sons."

"Yes," Butsuma nodded. "What you must know is the line of succession… for the… Senju…"

His fading brown eyes looking at the ceiling above, they closed halfway as he thought of his clansmen. The pride and brotherhood he felt deep within his aging bones moved him nearly to tears. As if made from stone, he shed no evidence of that pride as he prepared his parting words to his surviving sons and line of succession.

"The Senju… We are a proud and mighty people, and we need a clan head who is wise and powerful…"

Slowly, he turned towards Hashirama - the son whom he called weak and impudent for crying over Kawarama's death years ago. The memory of cracking his brute backhand against his cheek etched into his broken thoughts, guilt tinting his glance at the strong young man before him. As a young Senju clansmen in his early twenties, Hashirama had proven himself to be a mighty shinobi capable of fighting for honour in his clan's name, living past the age of adolescence as a marker for his perseverance. Using his rare and god-like kekkei genkai to make the forest do his bidding, he quickly rose as a feared and respected foe - and the most powerful of the living Senju. As Butsuma looked upon his eldest son, he felt regret for treating him the way he did, knowing it was all but too late.

"Hashirama," He began, his weak tone becoming serious. "…You will now lead the Senju, until your death… You will be the chieftain."

Shocked, Hashirama's eyes widened from his words. Seeing the look of utter surprise etched upon his sorrowful expression, Butsuma returned his attention towards the ceiling, feeling his wound's pulse grow numb. His fingers at his sides turned cold from the night air. He could feel his light begin to fade, all essence of warmth slowly departing from his body as he lay drenched in the blood of combat.

"Those are my parting words to you... as your... father…"

Nodding once, Hashirama bowed his head to the floor, shutting his eyes in attempt to shield his oncoming tears. Acknowledging his father's choice and respecting his dying wishes placed a great weight on his shoulders. As his eldest born son and eldest surviving heir, he knew it was his responsibility to one day lead the clan as the head - but he knew he was much more suited as a pillar. Tobirama had the strength and leadership, he often thought to himself - but he lacked the compassion and wisdom of a peacekeeper. Becoming a leader of peace was always his dream - but leading the Senju was not. Begrudgingly, he accepted his sealed fate with clenched hands upon the dark green garb that clothed his lap.

"Tobirama," Butsuma continued. "Be at Hashirama's side… advise him… Be his right hand, and ensure order… I'm... counting on you... Do not fail me... Do not fail the Senju..."

Closing his eyes, Tobirama nodded. "Yes, father."

Sitting up from his bow, Hashirama looked upon his dying father with sadness. His dark eyes glistening with hidden tears, he gave a parting glance. "Father… you…-,"

"Now... I can finally... join... Itama… Kawarama…" Butsuma interrupted, his tone no longer weak but unafraid - surprising the brothers who sat at his bedside. "...and your... mother…"

As he looked to his dying father, Hashirama noticed a weakly curved smile on his greying lips. At the very end, he was a true warrior who did not fear the presence of death. The god of death welcomed yet another Senju to his table...

* * *

The evening when the late chieftain's funeral pyre was lit was a somber one. Their faces blank with worry and hurt as they crowded around the departed, the clansmen watched silently as the torch was passed between the clan's priest and the chieftain's surviving sons. Passing the torch to Hashirama, he took one final look upon his father's gaunt husk sheathed in his red-plated armor. The etching of the clan's crest was cracked upon his chest, the thrust of the katana visible from the corner of his eye. Taking the torch to its final marker, Hashirama witnessed as the flames rose along the throne of wood that lay underneath his father. Even in death, he appeared unafraid of his fate - to become one with the earth once more.

After he ashes were buried that following morning, the Senju of the forest gathered outside the clan shrine within the heart of their shrinking settlement. The shrine's red gates had lost their shine, but they did not lose their faith from the devoted clansmen who prayed at the steps of the altar. Leaving offerings of food and silent pleading, the clan-folk begged for the safe return of their sons from battle and the ascension of their lost loved ones to the Pure Land of legend. To die in the world of the shinobi was a given, but knowing how or when was a question left unanswered by the gods to which they prayed. It was said that shinobi who died in battle would enter an eternal realm of heavenly rites, fighting to their heart's content before the old gods and the new - while those who did not live by the confines of a warrior entered a blissful plane of calm and rest. Upon the shrine's altar was a polished statue monument carved into the likeness of a vulpine. Although cracked by the winds of time, its place at the shrine was an honorable one - suspected to pay homage to the great demon that wandered the outskirts far beyond the forest boundary.

Adorned in white robes, the clansmen watched as their eldest son of their deceased chieftain walked the upon steps of the shrine to join the ceremony. Pausing before the altar, Hashirama looked at the elderly priest with eyes drained of emotion. Turning to his people, he wiped his expression clean of his held sorrow and masked it with a stoic gaze, conveying his burning will to take on the weight of his clan until the end of his days amongst the living.

"All rise," The priest proclaimed. "For clan leader, Hashirama-sama! Eldest son of Butsuma!"

As the Senju rejoiced, Hashirama knelt towards the priest, prepared to accept the markings of his ancestors. Carefully, the monk drew inscriptions on the young man's blank face using a clay mixture from the elder tree that towered behind the shrine. Sprouting from the center of the settlement and adorned in hemp rope and white tags made from straw wrapped around its trunk, the tree was believed a guardian to the clansmen. Elders have spoken of the tree in tales of old, with some believing it to have been with the Senju since the beginning. For centuries and a millennia, it stood its ground for generations. As much as it was worshipped, it was also a burgeoning omen to its people, with some speaking of how its fall would signify when the end of the Senju drew near. Although its true age was unknown, its trunk was healthy and its leaves were always green and brimming with life. The sap and substance from its bark was very important to the Senju for its healing properties and its ritual significance - and their supply of alcohol for wedding ceremonies and the birth of their young. For the first time since his father's indoctrination, Hashirama was receiving the markings of the elder tree. It felt bittersweet to him, but he was prepared to welcome his destined fate with open arms.

Once the markings were drawn onto him, the priest bowed to him on the shrine altar. "Please accept this blessing of the gods of the forest. May the Senju prosper with the elder tree for many generations to come!"

Bowing in response, Hashirama closed his eyes. Holding back as much emotion as possible, but his sorrow was beginning to seep through the cracks of his calm exterior. As the crowd cheered while their new chieftain stood before them at the shrine, Tobirama stood idly by, understanding both the pain he felt on Hashirama's expression and the regret of their father's unexpected passing. His narrowed eyes of stern contempt conveyed what he wished he could say.

"Hashirama-sama!"

Alarmed by the voice, Hashirama turned towards the young man knelt beside the shrine. His Senju armor gleamed from the setting sun, while his distressed dark eyes expressed utmost urgency. Snapping out of his saddened state, the new cheiftain looked upon him. "What is it?" He asked, his expression stoic. "Have you news to report?"

Looking down, the young armor-clad man grit his teeth. "There has been a disturbance due south." He replied, sternly. "Jun hasn't returned from patrol along the clan's boundaries, and there was a skirmish."

"What became after?" Tobirama entered, pausing before them. "Who was involved? Was it the Hagoromo clan?"

The young man shook his head. "I… I don't know, sir." He answered. "I fear for the worst…" Clenching his tightened fist on the dirt as he suppressed his forthcoming anger, his teeth gnashed in his jaws. Despite this, his expression of frustration was painted clearly on his face of contempt. "…As the Uchiha were the ones our men were fighting!"

Shocked, Hashirama's eyes widened. An Uchiha ambush on the day of his ceremony, perhaps to finish the job they started - the first casualty of the head-household taken care of, now all that stood were his surviving sons. The Senju were just as a threat to the Uchiha as the Uchiha were to the Senju. The thought disgusted him and frustrated him, knowing exactly how might be behind the orchestration of treachery. There were no current contracts in place by the nearest daimyō, and there was an unspoken truce amongst the rival clans - every honorable clan knew this. The Uchiha did not give a single care, nor did the Hagoromo clan of the distant west.

Sensing the same feelings, Tobirama turned to him with a glance that was narrowed and stern. "Brother," He began. "What say you, as our new leader?"

Gathering his thoughts, Hashirama looked off in the distance, eyeing the outer boundaries of the Senju clan's settlements. His eyes serious and washed of emotion, he had this first act of cheiftain thrust upon him. "Tobirama," He spoke. "Let's prepare to embark. We're going to investigate this and stop the fighting if we have to."

"Yes, brother."

* * *

As they approached the barren hillside that early morning, a murder of crows cawed and mobbed by the marshy swamp that signified the end of the Senju's forest and territory. Their black feathers ruffling and coating the terrain with a dark canopy of death, the crows fought amongst each other for dominance of their chosen carcass - unshaken from the men who approached. Standing still before what they saw sprawled on the dead grass of the marshland, the messenger broke down on his knees, slamming his fists onto the earth below.

"Damn them…!" He cried out, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Damn the Uchiha…! Jun… How dare they…!" While he quivered in rage, his head hung low in shame, his tears falling onto the ground below. "Such a dishonourable death… How dare the Uchiha bastards…!"

Before them amongst the crow feathers lay their fallen slain comrade, Jun of the Senju. Having only just reached adulthood, Jun was amongst the few Senju ninja to survive long enough to see the eclipse of his adolescence. However, just weeks after his eighteenth birthday, his life was inevitably cut short by the rival clan that sought to massacre every man, woman, and child bearing the name 'Senju'. At their feet, his lifeless body lay on the cold ground, while his head was severed from the neck, laying beside his torso on a pool of blood. Death by beheading. The Uchiha did indeed show no mercy against the Senju. Even in combat, the Uchiha were able to provoke the ultimate dishonour by denying a proper warrior death. To sever the head of your opponent without the rite of passage was the gesture of a cowardly foe, and all Senju knew of it too well.

Kneeling down, Tobirama inspected his remains, his eyes narrowing as his fingers grazed the armor plating of the dead. "Beheading without the seppuku ritual is the most dishonourable way to die in this land," He spoke. "And the Uchiha did it just to spite us." Standing up, he turned to his elder brother, who stood silent as he looked at his severed and disgraced comrade. "And to think this happened the day you were announced as clan-head. Perhaps they knew and wanted to send a message?"

"Hashirama-sama," The messenger began, standing up. "We should go after them!"

"No." Hashirama answered, without turning to him.

"Why not?!" The messenger shouted. "They killed our guardsmen! We should track them and behead their guardsmen, to get even!"

"We will not stoop to their level," Hashirama asserted, turning to the young man with a serious glance. "Losing a comrade was unforgivable, but we can't rely on violence to solve our conflicts."

"Brother," Tobirama sighed, dismayed. "Don't tell me you're still contemplating forming an alliance with those savages?"

Hashirama whipped his head towards him after hearing his words. Solidifying his heel into the dirt, his anger rising. Within his veins, his chakra began to swell within him - his hidden strength seeping through the fragments of his armor. "Tobirama!" He spat. "Don't use such talk! The Uchiha are the same as the Senju, they are a family. They fight for the same reasons we do." Calming down, he retreated his stance. Glancing towards the feathers that adorned Jun's headless corpse, his eyes softened as he frowned. "But yes, I have not given up on my dream. Although they will be hard to convince, I believe after thorough persuasion, they can align with us to unite this broken and forsaken land."

"And if they refuse?" Tobirama asked. "What will you do then?"

After hearing his brother's question, Hashirama remained silent. Looking down with eyes closed halfway, his sadness and uncertainty rose into his thoughts. He planned with Uchiha Madara to create peace in the world, but things have changed. Madara was unreasonable and growing thorn in his side. Starting conflicts with other clans merely for the thrill of it, he was growing into a silent proprietor of tyranny - the young boy Hashirama once skipped stones with vanishing within the fiery winds of battle. The Uchiha were too proud a people to form an alliance, and he had to learn to accept it.

Noticing the long silence as the early morning winds swept by them on the barren hillside, the messenger looked to his leader. An expression of slight fear on his face, painted in the sorrow from losing his best friend - he was desperate for answers. "Hashirama-sama?"

Closing his eyes and collecting himself, Hashirama opened his eyes and turned to them. "In the meantime, we need to return Jun's remains to his family," He spoke. "So they can have a proper burial for him, as an honourable shinobi."

The young man nodded, his cheeks stained with dried tears. "Yes, sir."

Approaching the body of the dead, the crows cawed in panic while the armored men drew closer. The black of their wings formed a haze over the barren hillside as they flew, coating the early morning skies in the essence of death. Once more, the Senju began to prepare for yet another burial with no sign of the conflicts ceasing in the near future…


	2. Love and Hatred

**Chapter 2  
****Love and Hatred**

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When they approached the Senju settlement that dead morning of grey, the procession of returning shinobi entered as if a dirge.

Laying silent and still inside a wood coffin fashioned by Hashirama's divine kekkei genkai of the forest, Jun once more returned to his homeland – only this time, he was to never again leave. Eternal slumber in the Pure Land awaited him, as did his father and many brothers. Another man carrying the bloodline of the Senju was called to the table of death. Carrying the coffin into the village, Hashirama led the procession with dark eyes blank with sorrow, his frown cracking against his usually calm exterior as he held his head high while he walked. As the new chieftain of the Senju, he had to do well to contain his emotions as a strong leader should – his father saw to it himself that he remembered. Holding the front handle of the coffin, Tobirama averted the glances of the stunned villagers while his anger twisted inside his throat. At the back of the coffin, Tohei the messenger held back tears as his scowl broke upon his fractured expression, his cheeks damp with grief and anger.

Coming to a silent and slow halt near the base of the elder tree in the village's center, they set the coffin down upon the earth damp with dew. Eyes were upon the from all angles, the many villagers – young and old – staring in silence as yet another coffin entered their settlement. There were often too many to count, at times. Death was a frequent visitor during the Warring States Period, and he long overstayed his welcome. It seemed as though the many daimyo who fought for control of the lands welcomed death as long as he did not claim their own nobility for his own – only the quarreling shinobi they hired for their bitter wars of conquest would do as an offering. One thousand years was certainly long enough. Hashirama was uncertain if the Senju would even survive another one hundred years if the wars continued, if he had to outright predict the future.

"No… No!"

As the droves of Senju slowly approached the wooden coffin in silent mourning, a woman with aged eyes and greying hair stumbled amongst the crowd with her trembling daughter frantically following behind her. Her shaking fingers upon the coffin, the woman collapsed to her knees in the mud. Her wails echoed through the heart of the village, her crackling voice breaking with her sobs. Close behind, her fair young daughter wept silently, cupping her face with her quivering hands.

"My son!" The woman cried out. "My boy… My dear sweet boy…!"

Her forehead laying upon the wooden texture of his resting place, the daughter sobbed upon the coffin, her worn pink kimono becoming damp from the earth below. "Jun…!" She trembled, her voice quivering. "Brother… I'm sorry…!"

Descended from a long line of shinobi, Jun was the youngest son of the late elder Kōjin. A close childhood friend of Butsuma, Kōjin was ten years his senior and his distant cousin, and it was he who lent his hand many times during the ceaseless conflicts between the Senju and the Uchiha. When Jun was only an infant, his father returned to the village as a charred pile of ash – the unquenchable fire-release of the Uchiha claiming the life of Butsuma's trusted companion as well as all of his men who fought alongside him that dreaded day. All four of his sons would soon meet the elder once more in the Pure Land, while his only daughter remained on Earth to comfort his widowed wife - Masuyo.

Masuyo was the daughter of a lowly farmer with no bloodline or kekkei genkai to call his own. She was once young and beautiful, with hair dark as night and eyes as blue as the summer skies. Merely sixteen, she accepted Kōjin's proposal – a seasoned, well-armored Senju shinobi who was approaching his thirties. At the night of her union with Kōjin, she wore an exquisite kimono fashioned with silk and they were married at the shrine before the elder tree – as was customary for all Senju weddings. Marrying within the clan was viewed as taboo by outsiders, but it was the accepted norm for generations so that the Senju bloodline would not wane. Carrying on their legacies by their father's name alone, the Senju had long avoided the taboo of family relations by recognizing lineages from the name of the father – distancing themselves as far as sixth-cousins. Many clans across the vast lands beyond the forest did the same, from the far east to the far west, from north and south – to best preserve their strength in numbers and to protect their inherited kekkei genkai. Although, some clans such as the brutal and cannibalistic Kaguya clan that lay waste to the countries riddled in the mists were no stranger to taboos – and they made many, including intermarrying with their own siblings, their flesh and blood – or so was the rumor. The union of Kōjin with Masuyo was a rare instance of outside-marriage, and it proved to be fruitful with their four sons and sole daughter. However, the losses Masuyo felt from her husband and sons proved too great, and she aged well before her time. Where she stood in her late forties, her once shiny black hair was near white from the stress and her blue eyes were dull from grief.

Hashirama remembered his father saying so to him and his brothers one night when they were children – when they asked about their own mother. As a grown young man, Hashirama could not remember his mother, nor did Tobirama. Hailing from the Senju, Butsuma's late wife was the daughter of a Senju named Takeshi – a civilian who tended to the rice fields outside of the clan's settlement and forged katanas in his great hearth. Moriko was a kind and fair beauty, with calm dark eyes hued with a warm red and silky hair as rich as the soft snows of winter. Upon meeting for the first time within the clan's forest while she was gathering herbs, they were married within a fortnight. After the birthing of her first three sons, the fourth proved difficult – and she passed shortly after Itama was born upon the crimson soaked sheets of her birthing bed. Butsuma was never the same. When he was seldom aware, some of the older Senju men would often say he became harsh with time. They were not wrong, and his sons could clearly see the pain within their father's fractured gazes as he was reminded of his late lover every moment he looked at his children – Tobirama, especially. Hashirama was often told he inherited her kind heart.

As he stood before the crying women by the coffin of their loved one, Hashirama hung his head low in shared sorrow. Jun was too young to die a shinobi's death, and certainly too young to be buried amongst his kin. The day after his inauguration as chieftain, he was being tested by both the forest gods and the gods of death.

"It was them, wasn't it? The Uchiha."

Turning towards the silent crowd of mourning, Tobirama sensed the elder Uda approach clad in his worn armor, the Senju crest marked by the indents of blades. Uda was one of the last surviving shinobi from his father's generation, a relic of the past. As Tobirama met his narrowed hazel eyes, he turned back towards the coffin of his young comrade.

"Yes, I'm afraid," He answered. "By the looks of it, there wasn't any more than five."

"Curse them…!" Uda growled, clenching his fists at his sides. "Damn those blood-eyed bastards! They'll pay for this… he was Kōjin's last son. They must've known… curse them!"

"Any news on the Hagoromo clan? Have they encroached onto our lands again?"

Catching his attention, Uda nodded. Looking back towards where Jun's body lay before his weeping family, he narrowed his eyes in held frustration and suspicion. "Rumor on the winds is that there was a battle with the Hyūga clan in the distant plains. Their numbers have fallen, so they gathered all they could and retreated to the hills. I can't see the Hagoromo holding on for much longer without the alliance of the Uchiha… It seems their bloodshed has finally caught up to them."

"I see," Tobirama spoke, his red eyes narrowing in thought. Calming his glance, he turned towards the elder with a stoic and stern expression marked on his white face. "This would be an ideal time to send a hawk to the Hyūga, then. We need all the allies we can muster."

"Yes, sir." Uda bowed, starting on his way towards the sheltered aviary on the outskirts.

Before the wooden coffin, Tohei sat with his katana pierced through the dirt, his hands shaking upon its black hilt as his eyes continued to weep as the sight of his late friend and comrade. He and Jun had done everything together. They trained together, ate together, laughed together, shared dreams together – and now he was dead. A creature born of four legs had to learn to adapt to walking upon two. Gritting his teeth in sobbing anger, Tohei shuddered before the coffin bitterly.

"If only I reached him in time…" He uttered. "I could've saved him!"

"Now is not the time for such thought, Tohei."

The calm and flat voice of Hashirama caught him off guard for a moment. Whipping his head towards him, Tohei met the blank glance of his new chieftain with widened eyes of grief and rage as the greying skies towered over them in the village.

"But Jun…! He's… dead!" He spat. Grimacing to himself, he hung his head low as his shoulders shook with oncoming sorrow. "And I couldn't do anything… What good is being a shinobi if I can't even save one friend?"

His glance saddening upon Jun's coffin, Hashirama stood in brief silence as he pondered for an answer to give. He, too, felt guilt for the death of their comrade – but such a death was to be expected if you were born a Senju. Being born a son into any shinobi clan marked every man for the life of a warrior. Dying young was to be expected in these dark times of war and bloodshed. Desperately, Hashirama wished for change – and the winds were persuading him to do so. Meeting Tohei's sobbing expression, he gave a sympathetic glance from his dark eyes.

"You were following your duty to the Senju," He said. Gesturing towards the wooden coffin and the mourners, Tohei followed the chieftain's gaze towards their fallen. "As was… Jun. He followed our clan's decree until the very end, with the utmost honor."

Understanding his words, Tohei looked down towards his blade, his dark eyes and their green gleam containing his deep hurt. He knew Hashirama was right, but the Uchiha would never be forgiven – not ever. Turning towards the Senju priest who stood close by, Hashirama gave a stern-eyed glance – the expression of a leader returning.

"Prepare a pyre for our fallen. We will bury his ashes with his family at dusk once the rain passes."

"Yes, Hashirama-sama." The priest bowed, starting on his way.

* * *

As dusk drew near, Hashirama lit yet another great pyre for a fallen Senju clansmen. As the grief-stricken Masuyo and her daughter looked on, they watched as their chieftain stepped towards the final marker with his flaming torch, igniting the fire that would lay Jun to rest with his father and brothers. Although beheaded out of disrespect by the Uchiha, the priest lay his husk upon the pyre as if he were whole – praying silently to the forest gods for his spirit to enter the Pure Land in one piece. As the embers flickered upon the air, Tobirama looked on in held frustration as he watched Jun's body burn upon the great pyre. Close by, Tohei stood silent as his heart grew heavy with the pain of his loss as his eyes burned with fire.

After Jun's ashes were buried beside his elder father Kōjin and his brothers, Hashirama was summoned by the remaining elders of the Senju within the confines of his mansion. Silently, Senju guards stood before the sliding doors of the chamber, their spears ready at their sides. Sitting before the chieftain and his brother Tobirama were the three surviving elders – Uda among them, his wrinkled scowl visible upon his features. As the candlelight of the paper lanterns flickered from the night, their conversation grew serious as their hushed tones rose with urgency.

"Hashirama-sama," The elder Toba began, his white beard reaching the lap of his blue kimono. "We fear another attack by the Uchiha. Our scouts to the north have reported that they're gathering their highest-ranking shinobi and assembling their clansmen at the far reaches of our forest, about five-hundred strong. They will launch an attack within a fortnight… our scouts have determined."

"Uda-sama," Hashirama spoke, his glance narrowed in seriousness. "How many able-bodied Senju do we have?"

"About one hundred… my lord." He answered, regretfully. "We lost many in the recent attacks from both the Uchiha and Hagoromo…"

"And the daimyo?" Tobirama asked, turning towards him. "Any word from the palace?"

Shaking his head in regret, Toba clenched his palms upon his knees while he sat. "Our gracious lord can't be bothered to leave his tower, it seems. Our hawk was sent back with our own message… along with a message conveying the daimyo's wishes to retain the lands he currently has in his possession… '_No men from the capital will be sent to do battle alongside the Senju_'. Shinobi fight… and the lords claim the lands they conquer…"

Looking down at his lap, Tobirama narrowed his red eyes in bitter distaste from the words he heard the elder confess. One hundred was all they had. The Senju of the forest could not afford to lose another battle. To lose their next battle would mean certain extinction of the clan, and the odds seemed as if they were not in their favor. Mulling over Uda's words, Hashirama reflected to himself for a moment in silent thought. As chieftain, he knew he had to make difficult decisions, but to have one hundred shinobi lives at risk was something he had not yet fathomed.

"I would like to request you send forth five shinobi." Hashirama commanded. "Have them meet before the gates armored and equipped before dawn. I will be leading a negotiation envoy to the Uchiha clan's settlement."

"Hashirama-sama!" Uda barked, slamming his palms against the tatami floor. "You can't be serious?! You would be killed! How can you expect those savages to listen?"

"We have only one hundred shinobi," He answered, his stern expression remaining calm under pressure as he felt the stunned and shocked glances around him. "One hundred lives don't need to be lost. We will leave with five men, and we will return with five men."

"Elder brother!" Tobirama stood, gritting his teeth. "Reconsider! You may have known Madara as a child, but he has truly become a monster. Lands have been ravaged since he's become the chieftain of the Uchiha… do _not_ let yourself be blinded by your past friendship!"

"I know that."

Startling by his uttered words, Tobirama and the elders watched as Hashirama stood from his cushion upon the floor. His expression remaining stone-faced and calm, the chieftain glanced towards them as his powerful chakra could be felt within the room.

"I'm asking for reparations… not an alliance. They've killed many of our men unprovoked." He said, his tone dry. "I must speak with Madara himself. If he wants a war, we would have no choice. But… if war can be avoided, I will do all I can as chieftain to protect the Senju."

Speechless, Toba sat silent as words failed to reach his aged lips. Beside him and Uda, the elder Seimu – the oldest living Senju of over one hundred and ten years – reared his wrinkled head to the young leader with his expression concealed by sagging skin and briskly white facial hair.

"Hashirama-sama," He spoke, his voice as soft as a spring breeze. "Your strength is admirable… and so is your desire for peace. Do you still… dream of _that _peace?"

"Yes," He nodded, meeting his glance. "I do."

"You would do well to remember… we of the Senju have our way of life, and so do the other clans… and the Uchiha. If you truly want peace, you must end hatred. To end hatred, you must form understanding. To form understanding, you must form love…-,"

"Elder Seimu, with all due respect-," Tobirama interrupted. "The Uchiha are cursed by hatred. They will never listen to understanding, they're not capable of love -,"

"No clan knows love more than the Uchiha," Seimu replied, his voice calm and swift in his old age. "From the loss of love, hatred is born… and so the cycle continues." Turning back to Hashirama, the great elder met the chieftain's saddened expression that was lost in deep thought. "I wonder… Hashirama-sama, would you be the one… to break the cycle?"

Meeting the great elder's wrinkled expression, Hashirama gave a subtle bow of his head. "Seimu-sama," He spoke, quietly. "I will do so with honor… you have my word as a Senju."

With a troubled glance, Tobirama watched his elder brother bow towards the elders and leave the room, the sound of the sliding doors closing filling the still air around them. For an instant, he caught the thought of him wondering what he would do if he were the rightful heir and chieftain. He knew he would show no mercy to the Uchiha for what they have done and would have led an ambush to their doorstep in full-force – one-hundred strong. Startling himself, his mind immediately shook off the thought the moment it entered his mind, cursing to himself under his breath for such treacherous thoughts. It was Hashirama who was chieftain, not himself – he reminded himself in his thoughts.

Following close behind, he started down the halls to prepare for the journey to the Uchiha clan's settlement north of their forest…

* * *

The morning songs of the birds filled the forest air that early morning while the darkness of the night still danced amongst the skies. Clad in their armor, Hashirama and Tobirama were accompanied by five of the strongest Senju shinobi – all five of them young men who would have been the same age as Jun if he had lived. Fastening their katanas to their sheaths at their backs, the Senju stood at the gates in formation as they discussed their plans for departure in hush tones. Sensing someone approach, Tobirama turned behind only to find Tohei running towards them clad in his Senju armor and blade in hand. Standing up, Hashirama narrowed his glance towards him in suspicious curiosity.

"Tohei," He said. "Have you news from the elders?"

"No, sir," Tohei knelt with a bow, looking down at the ground before him. "I'm here to disembark with you and Tobirama-sama."

"No," Hashirama replied, sternly. "Go back to the village. You have your fellow guardsmen to -,"

"I'm not standing guard and doing nothing!"

Surprising them, they turned towards the standing young man. His eyes were fraught with intensity and determination while his expression remained still as if like slate. Holding his katana at his side, he tightened his grip upon the hilt of his blade.

"I'm going with you… for Jun's sake. He would've wanted me to… I know it."

"Elder brother," Tobirama spoke in hushed tones as he stepped closer to his ear. "Tohei is young, but he may be a good asset to our mission… He has much to learn, but he will be the teacher to the next generation of Senju… once our times have passed…"

Pondering to himself, Hashirama stood silently as his dark eyes closed halfway in empathy. Tohei was still visibly shaken and hurt from the loss of his friend, but perhaps his determination was good in intentions. Meeting Tohei's narrowed gaze towards him, he closed his eyes for a moment and gave a light smile – dissipating the tension lingering amongst the air between them.

"Very well," He nodded, opening his eyes. "You can accompany us, but you must listen to the commands of your superiors. This will be a highly dangerous task, and the journey is long, so stay close and keep your blade ready."

Brimming with anticipation, Tohei smiled back. "Yes, sir!"

Gathering in formation, the six Senju shinobi dashed across the grassy meadow that marked the entrance of their settlement, reaching the forest floor within a matter of moments. The Uchiha waited within the far reaches of the forest boundary, a day's journey northeast from where the Senju lay hidden amongst the trees of the great forest. In the region known for its fiery mountains of the south sea, the lands ravaged by war from their feudal lords cried out for it to end as the tree leaves danced in the brisk winds of early spring.

The cold still lingered as they departed for the north…


	3. Demon

**Chapter 3  
****Demon**

* * *

The leaves of the greening trees above swirled as the hidden shinobi bounded upon the forest floor shrouded in shadows. One after another, the Senju's silent footsteps tapped against the fell trees covered in moss. The air was cool and lifeless as they neared the edge of the great forest that covered the lands claimed by their daimyo in the south. Away from conflict and the horrors of war, the daimyo of their land lived comfortably in his great palace with servants, concubines, and his council. The only worries that plagued the daimyo were his fear of consuming poisoned food and how long it would take him to stroll the palace gardens. The fears that plagued the common-folk were if they would still be alive when they wake – and these fears were shared by all who lived in their gracious lord's lands beyond the palace surrounded by high walls of carved stone. If the daimyo had heeded their request, they would have had an army of one thousand strong – twice the size of the ruthless Uchiha Madara's army of five-hundred that awaited them just ahead of their dense and lush forest.

Serving the rival lord at the northern tip of the region where the plains began with their tall grasses and weaving rivers, the Uchiha pledged their servitude to the young daimyo – a boy who assumed the title shortly after his father passed from a fever that claimed many lives during the winter months that recently passed. Barely thirteen years, the young lord retained an unquenchable thirst for power and the Uchiha stood behind the strong, and _only_ the strong. Sensing strength with their eyes of blood, they flocked behind the banners of any daimyo who possessed a similar thirst for power – and adequate coin. As with the curse of hatred, it was spoken in hushed tones amongst the other clans that the Uchiha were also a victim of the curse of power.

That was something Hashirama regretfully believed to be true.

As the six Senju men dashed upon the forest floor in silence towards their destination, the scattered light of day gleamed upon their armor, reflecting off each crack, each groove, and each crest that decorated the plating on their chest and shoulders. Out of all of them, Tohei's armor was the most immaculate. He was barely eighteen years of age, and thus was limited only to guard duty back in the settlement. Unlike his friend Jun, Tohei was fortunate enough to not see combat firsthand – only the injured and the dead that he encountered while on duty. While he followed close behind the backs of his superiors, he narrowed his dark green eyes upon the forest thicket that lay ahead. Although still considered a boy, he was the only man remaining of his family line as a fever claimed the lives of both his mother and father – and his little sister of only seven years. A proud Senju, he aspired to be a great swordsman and become as skilled in his ninjutsu as Tobirama – who he idolized since he was a child. Both he and Jun shared that together. Revenge festering inside his heart, he bounded behind his superiors as the hilt of his sword reminded him of the blade upon his back. The next time he would unsheathe the blade, it would be against an Uchiha – he thought to himself.

Suddenly, Hashirama came to a pause upon the forest floor, his stance crouched and prepared for what awaited him a distance away. The others soon halted behind him, confused as to why their chieftain stopped so abruptly. His dark eyes widened, he turned towards the direction of the chakra he sensed. As Tobirama was about to open his mouth to speak, he suddenly sensed the presence on the winds. Looking in the same direction, he gnashed his teeth in shock at the feel of the monstrous and burgeoning chakra that lumbered amongst the forest only a distance away. Hashirama knew what it was – he could tell as the air grew dense and heavy around them from its presence. The other Senju who stood with them clad in armor sensed the chakra as well – the presence all too familiar and reminiscent of a nightmare. Bewildered, Tohei stepped forward to the brothers. Unlike his superiors, he lacked the sensory capabilities to understand what was happening.

"What is it?" He asked. "Why did we stop? Is -,"

"Quiet, Tohei…!" Tobirama silenced.

Leaning against a tree, he narrowed his red eyes towards the chakra he detected in the distance. As the air fell dead within his senses, he jolted for a moment – his eyes widening. Whipping his head towards his elder brother who listened carefully as he knelt by a tree trunk, he gave him a glance mired in urgency.

"Brother -!"

"All of you," Hashirama spoke in a whisper, not taking his gaze away from the direction of the massive chakra that lurked close by. "Stay down and stay still… Do not make a sound…"

Heeding his command, the armored Senju crouched in their places at the foot of the trees, concealed by the shadows that coated the forest floor like a shroud. As Tohei sat amongst his armed clansmen, he noticed their controlled expressions while fear painted their eyes that were locked upon the green earth below. Hashirama and Tobirama sat crouched beside each other, both of them looking towards the direction of the chakra that ripped fear through the hearts of their comrades. Curious, Tohei still did not understand. Then, he felt a sudden rumble erupt from the earth beneath his feet.

Turning towards the east, the rumble disappeared as if a figment of his imagination. Once again, the rumble returned, lingering longer than the last. It felt as if a silent earthquake was stirring beneath him – only the earth stayed still. Startling him, the tree leaves above shivered with each rumble as it approached closer. A cold wind blew past, and then – he suddenly felt the presence enter his senses. Instantly, he froze where he sat crouched amongst his clansmen – a faint quiver shocking through him as he tried his best to contain his bewilderment. Bringing himself to glance towards the forest canopy, his dark green eyes widened greatly at the sight. Towering over the forest with its gargantuan size, the tailed-beast whipped each of its nine tails as it strode across the land in search of prey.

The nine-tailed demon fox, the tailed-beast of legend – it was real.

Stunned, Tohei suddenly felt as if he were turned to stone from the mere sight of it. The chakra of the beast was inconceivable – as if infinite. No man dared to venture close to the creature unless fear of certain death was not a concern. Since ancient times too long ago to remember, the nine-tailed fox made its home in the forest of the lands to the east. Seeing it in such a way was a rare sight, an envy of scholars both near and far. Tales of tailed-beasts were common in the lands of shinobi, each one with a different twist than the other. In the case of the nine-tails, it was said the beast could destroy mountains with a single slash of its tails, cause tsunamis in its wake, and would appear in times where mankind would be consumed with hatred. All in all, the nine-tails was something to be both marveled and feared. Though the winds were calm, the air felt thick with its strength as it approached. The size of the creature from below appeared as though its tails were touching the heavens. With each step of its massive clawed paws, the earth gave a slight quake underneath its path. The creature's fur was a deep orange while its vulpine eyes were a striking red. Gazing over the horizon, the nine-tails continued on its way across the forest – ignoring the presence of the humans below.

Was it mercy, or was it mere luck?

The Senju went with the latter.

Once the beast was gone towards the far reaches of the sprawling woodland, Tohei remained frozen in fear of its chakra. His hand was still shaking upon the tree close to him, his eyes wide with bewilderment. Jolting him, he felt a warm hand touch his shoulder. Whipping his head towards them, he met the calm expression of his chieftain. Unfazed by the beast, he gave a light smile towards his underling.

"It's alright, Tohei," Hashirama spoke. "It's no threat to us now." Glancing towards the thicket where the beast once strode, he felt a calm breeze pass by. "The nine-tails may be a dangerous creature, but if unprovoked – it's harmless. It protects this forest, as we do as the mighty Senju."

"Brother," Tobirama scoffed, walking towards them. "Don't tell him such talk. The nine-tails is a bad omen to all. It appears before war and bloodshed. It's blind with hatred and rage… just like the Uchiha."

Standing, Hashirama gave his brother a concerned look from his dark eyes. "That may be in legends, but in our world, the nine-tails is merely a tailed-beast. Nothing more." He began. "Are you forgetting the tale of its creation, or should I remind you?"

"Why must you waste our time telling us folktales?" Tobirama sighed, dismayed. "Tales are for children -,"

"It was said that the Sage of the Six Paths created the nine-tails, along with the other tailed-beasts." Hashirama said. "There are eight others in this world, each in their own unique appearance and form. The nine-tails resembles the kitsune of legend and it's the guardian of this forest." Gesturing towards the thicket, he gave a light smile. "It was said that there was a temple constructed in the heart of the forest in honor of the nine-tails. It was built a thousand of years ago, but no one has been able to find it."

"That's… amazing," Tohei gasped. "Why has no one been able to find it?"

"Supposedly it's hidden deep within the lands away from human settlement and is concealed by a powerful jutsu of some sort. It's where the nine-tails goes to rest after it appears. It's said that the beast wakes for five years and sleeps for ten… but anyone who approaches too close loses their memory, or gets eaten -,"

"Brother," Tobirama groaned. "We have more important matters to attend to. Don't get so distracted by a mere mass of walking-chakra."

Irked by his sharp tongue, Hashirama jolted for a moment. Noticing his brother's narrowed glare towards him, he let out an embarrassed sigh, averting his eyes from his of piercing red. It was certainly not the first time he was caught in a ramble, but he had to agree – the times were indeed dire.

"You're right… I'm sorry…"

Witnessing the brotherly spat, Tohei could feel the second-hand embarrassment creep through him. Although he had great respect and honor for his chieftain, he did find it underwhelming to have such a powerful leader be so easily talked down to by his own flesh and blood. Hashirama of the Senju – mocked as Hashirama the Spineless by his adversaries. Feeling guilty, Tohei wondering if they were right, after all.

"Hashirama-sama," He started, standing up. "Where do we go next? The beast travelled due east, towards the Silver Sea."

"Right," Hashirama replied, snapping out of his gaze. In an instant, his stern-eyed expression of a natural-born leader returned as he glanced at his envoy of armored Senju shinobi. "The Uchiha are not much farther. This will be a difficult task, so everyone must act cautiously and listen to my commands. We must do all we can to avoid any further conflict… no matter how high the stakes. Remember why we are doing this – we've lost too many for the conflicts of our daimyo. We are doing this to change the ways of the land."

Turning towards the north, he narrowed his eyes on the shadowy canopy ahead. They were within an hour's journey of the Uchiha – and Hashirama could feel their chakra on the winds as they blew past. Once more, the winds became cold, swaying the leaves of green above, their rustling sounding as if the fluttering of flutes. A sorrowful tune, he thought – he could sense the dirge that lay ahead. Glancing back towards his men, he gave a subtle nod as he readied himself for departure.

"We must make haste!"

"Yes, sir!"

Bounding across the forest floor, the Senju once more resumed their path towards the settlement of the red-eyed shinobi who claimed the lands north of the forest and all that inhabited it. With his eyes glaring ahead, Tohei dashed alongside Tobirama with his heart full of pain and hatred. Noticing his expression, Tobirama could feel what his dark green eyes conveyed. They had similar eyes, he thought – eyes that sought to see their enemies fall for the sins they have committed – and for the lives they wrongful stole.

* * *

The scattered sunlight of noon soon disappeared with the appearance of dark clouds…

As he stood with his gunbai at his side, he dusted off the dirt from the plated armor that covered his broad shoulders. Madara was no stranger to inciting conflict, but he insisted that the Sarutobi were bent to betray them. It was better to finish them off when they could, he thought – before they approached the other clans that wandered the war-torn lands of the sprawling forest. Hundreds of armed Sarutobi clansmen lay bloodied in their garbs and crests, not a single man alive left to tell the tale. Although they put up a good fight, the battle was easily called from the start by the appearance of Madara and his small team of elite Uchiha warriors – one of them being his brother Izuna, his own flesh and blood. Living in a hidden settlement to the west of the forested lands, the Sarutobi still clung to existence in the shinobi world. In their faint attempt to compromise with the Uchiha who claimed the barren lands of iron as their own, they lost nearly all their able-bodied shinobi to the infamous blood-eyed brothers. The last thing many of those monkey-worshipping warriors saw before their deaths was the gleam of their Sharingan before the life was snuffed out of them by their encroaching flames.

"Brother," Izuna spoke, placing his katana into its sheath. "Perhaps this was unnecessary?"

"Nonsense," Madara mused, eyeing the field of death that lay before them. "They were adamant on betrayal. What more could have been done?"

Glancing towards the armored back of his elder brother, Izuna saw the path of destruction that lay in their wake. Dotted around them in the field of ash were the charred and burnt bodies of their adversaries, some of them with their final screams etched permanently onto their grey-laden faces. Their corpses unsettled him greatly. Although no stranger to combat himself, he considered the act before him a mere massacre. Since the advent of his elder brother becoming chieftain after the death of their father Tajima, Izuna had sensed an unraveling within Madara. He grew colder, ruthless, and unreachable. Even the gleam of his powerful Sharingan proved more menacing, striking enough fear into Izuna to prevent him from coming close to his once-loving elder brother.

Taking after their late-mother's kindness, the elders of the clan had wished Izuna had been fortunate enough to have been born before Madara. That, however, was not the case – and so the clan was forced to take on the manic and unstable Madara for their leader. Out of five sons to carry on Tajima's name, only Madara and Izuna survived long enough to see the fruits and labors of adulthood. Wearing the proud fan-shaped crests of the Uchiha onto their backs, their three older brothers were lost amongst the thousands of casualties that claimed the lives of shinobi. Izuna thought of their names every day, while Madara merely thought of the clans that claimed them.

"Madara-sama,"

Turning towards their comrades, Izuna saw their armored clansmen approach from the other corners of the battlefield. One of them was carrying a scroll and had a scowl marked in urgency forged upon his brow. This narrowed eyes of the Sharingan conveyed what Izuna hope he would not speak – but it was futile.

"Word has reached our clan that the Senju are sending an envoy to our settlement to discuss matters of a truce," The armored Uchiha spoke. "What say you?"

"We have an army of five hundred waiting at the settlement," Another entered. "Should we send word?"

"No," Madara spoke, surprising them. "That won't be necessary…"

Keeping in his stance overlooking the ash-filled lands, Madara sneered with excitement. He knew exactly who was approaching them, and he intended to send his regards in person. Grasping his arm tighter as he crossed his arms against his chest, the name of his long-lost friend of childhood rang through his mind.

Hashirama of the Senju.

Meeting in numerous conflicts since their first encounter as mere children, he fantasized about the day where he would finally have his due rematch – from the day his father was slain by Butsuma upon the forked river that separated their enemy territories. All that remained of his family was Izuna, his caring brother who fought viciously on the battlefield but yearned for a peace that went ridiculed by his brother and unheard by his clansmen. Hearing rumors against the winds of the inconceivable strength that flowed through Hashirama's gentle veins, Madara wanted nothing more than to burn every ounce of his wood-release back into the very earth from which it came. He relished in the thought of scorching every Senju – be it a man, woman, or child. As much as the name Senju excited his stirring blood, Madara would never admit the slight fear that tinged through him at the notion of someone other than himself being stronger.

Fighting Hashirama would prove it, he thought – it had to.

"Send forth a message to our elders," Madara said. "Tell them to summon one hundred of our men. The Senju will meet with us here… away from our settlement."

"Yes, sir!"

As he felt the winds sway against his blood-soaked armor, Madara cracked a snide grin upon his face. His Mangekyo activated, he looked towards the skies with a longing for the taste of iron on his lips once again. Standing still in the winds, Izuna knew the dreaded feeling all too well. The feel of his elder brother's chakra chilled him, reminding him that it were to be no use to talk him out of it.

The Senju were due to arrive shortly…


End file.
